


The Taste of Death

by hotleafjuice



Series: Sons and Daughters of Skyrim [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adultery, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cannibalism, Domestic Violence, Mental Breakdown, Murder, Necrophilia, Sexual Violence, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotleafjuice/pseuds/hotleafjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What drives someone to join a cult of cannibals?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Still no beta.
> 
> Please, please, please read the tags before continuing.
> 
> Edited 05/28/2017

_ Evil is always unspectacular and always human. And shares our bed...and eats at our table. _

_ -W.H. Auden _

 

Markarth

 

4E 195

 

Lisbet held a corner of her apron to her lip, feeling the blood soak the fabric. After running her tongue over her teeth, she swallowed down a mouth full of copper. Gunnar was drunk again, and the room smelled of stale mead and damp. She hated Markarth. She hated the cold, water-slick stones and the constant pounding of water. She hated the smell of the silver mines. Mostly, she hated her herself.

There was a clock on the highest shelf in the store, and Lisbet watched the pendulum swing back and forth, back and forth. The world slowly faded out of focus. On quiet days she could hear the ticking. Inevitably, the sound of the door would shatter the peace.

Today, Gunnar was speaking with some vendors from some of the smaller settlements in the Reach. With contracts in hand, he introduced her to his new assistant, Imedhnain. He was an unassuming man, and Lisbet's gaze just slid right over him.

 

***

Recent Forsworn attacks sent much of the city into a panic. Lisbet could hear the whispers. There were late shipments then eventually no shipments. Every trader in the city was suffering, losing caravan after caravan. Gunnar just got worse.

His hands curled into her flesh, leaving imprints of his frustration. Sometimes, her eyes would drift up to the clock, losing herself in watching the pendulum. His voice drifted out, and the whispers set in. Wordless tones that seeped in around the windows. Gunnar raged, but she could barely hear him.

The world shifted suddenly, the floor rushing up to meet her. Blood dripped from her nose, but it was the blur of her left eye that made her cry out. Already, the swelling set in. No one remarked on her absence for several days.

 

***

Imedhnain watched her fill out the ledger, her hand minutely shaking, causing small ink blotches. The scratch of the quill set her teeth on edge. She didn't realize she had stopped writing until Imedhnain gently laid a hand over hers. “I'll finish this, Lisbet. It's getting late.” She started to protest, but he would hear nothing of it.

 

Gunnar was still awake when she made it home, the house dark excepting a single candle burning in their bedroom. “What kept you?”

Lisbet untied her apron, folding it neatly; the feel of the fabric distracted her.

“What fucking kept you!?”

She whirled on her heel to face him. “Just finishing the books is all.” She could practically taste the sour mead on his breath when he crowded into her space. “Stopped by the inn for dinner.” Her eyes darted around the room, refusing to settle on one thing, refusing to settle on him.

Gunnar felt a strange sort of relief in seeing Lisbet on the floor. His arm was still outstretched when she tried to get up. There was a trickle of blood from the right side of her mouth, her lower lip split. Everything was wrong. The shop was failing. The city was still reeling from the Forsworn. His shipments weren't coming. Spending his days drinking seemed the only way. He grabbed Lisbet by her hair, twisting, and feeling strands come free.

She was yelling now, trying to pull away. He was fixated on that thin trail of blood from her lips. Glass shattered, a nearby table falling, crashing to the floor. He only saw red. Lisbet's dress ripped in his hand, and she fought him.

 

***

“Haven't seen Lisbet in a few days,” Imedhnain's inquiry rested heavily on Gunnar. He stamped out a flash of irritation.

“Been under the weather.” His answer was curt, and his assistant didn't press the issue.

 

***

Imedhnain watched as Lisbet trailed her fingers over the edge of the counter. She seemed at loose ends without Gunnar. Karthwasten was a four day journey with fair weather. Imedhnain didn't expect to see his employer anytime soon.

“You could leave, you know.” He didn't look at her.

“Why would I leave?”

“You know why. Nobody would blame you. I got some gold saved up. Should get you to Whiterun at least.”

Lisbet shook her head. “I don't want to leave.”

“You deserve better.” He reached out, carefully placing his hand over hers. She stared at their hands for a long moment, long enough that she could hear the ticking and the whispers from beyond the walls. Imedhnain touched her shoulder, slowly curling himself into her space. Lisbet could see how gray his eyes were. He touched his lips to hers.

It was the most gentle sort of touch. Imedhnain's hands were reverent; he wanted to touch her everywhere. On the very sheets her husband fucked her on, she let Imedhnain make love to her.

 

***

A cold fire kindled in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes narrowed in hatred whenever Gunnar's back was turned. The resentment and bitterness coiled inside her, taking root somewhere beyond herself. She let the days pass as before, mindless work and the ticking of the clock.

At night the whispers grew louder, the words almost tangible. She imagined the words curling around and in through the window frames. Sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, she would see hints of faces.

Her eyes would slide over a sword or a mace from the week's shipment, and all she could see was Gunnar's head split wide open. She blinked, clearing visions of chunks of meat spattered across the counters while blood pooled at her feet. Other times, she imagined slicing him open down the middle, watching his organs spill out like the gush of the waterfalls. She wondered what he would look like, hung and skinned like a deer. She could taste the blood between her teeth.

 

***

When winter set in the City of Stone, Lisbet could not keep the chill from her bones no matter how many layers she wore or how close she sat near the fire. Gunnar began to complain about the cost of wood, but she just added another log to the blaze.

“Lisbet, are you unwell?” Imedhnain's voice soothed some of the ragged edges of her mind. Her dreams had been dark, leaving her hollow and dazed. Even Gunnar noted her sickly pallor.

“I'm fine.” She waved him off, turning her attention to the shipment schedule. “Winter in Markarth has never agreed with me.”

Imedhnain nodded, but his mouth was still set in worry. He placed a hand at the small of her back, his fingers curling carefully into the fabric of her dress. “Take care of yourself.” He left before she could reply.

 

 

***

“Let go! Let go of me!” Lisbet's voice echoed off the walls, ringing in her ears. Gunnar only held on more tightly to her arms. She kicked, knocking over chairs and tables throughout the house. There was the familiar sound of breaking glass; wine spread across the floor like blood.

She managed to break one arm free, punching Gunnar with as much strength as she could muster. There was the satisfying crunch of bone. Blood poured down the front of his shirt. Her dress tore as she wrenched herself away from him.

Lisbet did not get far before her husband's hand closed around her shoulder like a vise. “You stupid bitch!” Spittle and blood punctuated his words.

Lisbet's vision swam when her head bounced off the stone floor. She felt something give way inside of her. Gunnar ripped her dress further, blood from his nose dripping across her neck and face. She fought him with renewed strength when he began to force her legs apart. One of his hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing until she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her vision grayed around the edges, and she clawed at him frantically. Her nails left jagged red lines down his arms.

She did not know how much time had passed when she drew in her first gasping breath. Pain radiated from the inside outside. Lisbet became aware of the taste of blood, and the blurred vision in her right eye. Gunnar held her down, one hand on her head and the other gripping her leg. She cried out at the first penetrating thrust.

Her body jerked violently, convulsing to free herself. Gunnar only held her tighter, forcing her further against the floor as his hips forced against hers. The strength quickly drained from her limbs, and she could only push at him, crying for him to stop.

Lisbet's focus turned inward, the world hazing around her. Images of blood soaked linens teased her senses. She could feel the cold of the dagger as she plunged it through her husband's throat. Laughing, she forced the blade deeper until his head lulled brokenly to the side. She pictured him strapped to a chair, her teeth at his throat. He screamed as she cut off his cock and tossed it away. Her thoughts changed rapidly, her darkest desires coalescing then vanishing like a whiff of smoke.

 

***

Pale sunlight woke Lisbet, and she became hyper aware of the feel of the unforgiving stone at her back. Her breathing was labored and painful. Crusts of dried blood flaked from her hands. There was the familiar taste of copper in her mouth. Slowly, she shifted, testing out the movement of her arms and legs. She bit back a cry as she pulled at the tattered remains of her clothing. A dark hand-shaped bruise stood out against her thigh. Tears began to roll silently down her face.

Gunnar was no longer in the house. She scrubbed at her face furiously, trying to keep the tears back. The detritus of their fight was spread from one end of the house to the other. Lisbet picked her way over broken dishes and overturned furniture. With shaking hands, she poured water into a large basin, ready to wash away her agony.

It was nearly a week before she went back to the shop. Gunnar was gone on business, and she could not leave everything to Imedhnain. He greeted her with concerned eyes. Imedhnain longed to touch Lisbet, but the moment he reached for her, she jerked away, her voice bordering on hysteria as she told him not to touch her. He watched as she seemed to fold in on herself, her eyes everywhere but on him.

 

***

“The bloodiest beef in the Reach!”

Lisbet paused outside the store's entrance, looking at Hogni Red-Arm as he held up a slab of meat. He caught her eye. “Lisbet! You've been scarce lately. I got fresh cuts.” She only shook her head before disappearing into the shop.

That evening, Hogni dropped off a wrapped parcel, claiming it was on the house. Lisbet roasted the meat that night, slathering it in sauce until it dripped in the cooking pit. The burst of flavor reminded her of spiced pork.

When she saw Hogni again, she complimented his choice. He only smiled wide in return. The taste drew her in until she was eating roasted meat every night. For some reason, it made her want to roll over and sink her teeth into Gunnar.

Instead, she sunk her teeth into Imedhnain’s shoulder as he pressed her against the wall of the shop's storeroom. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling to the point of pain. He pulled her legs tighter around his waist, the shelves rattling ominously.

 

***

More and more, Lisbet could see Gunnar skinned and strung up to be roasted. In her dreams, he screamed as he burned, his flesh bubbling and making the fire sputter. She thought of carving out sections of flesh from him, forcing him to eat it. She held him down until he bit off his own tongue and choked, blood foaming between her fingers.

She kept going back to Hogni for more meat. Bloodiest beef in the Reach, indeed. Lisbet asked after his supplier, but he would only smile, keeping his secret. It wasn't until Lisbet came up to his stall with a broken nose that he relented. Hogni took her from the city, explaining that there were others like him. It was less than a day's ride and deep in the hills. Their destination was a cave with winding tunnels.

When Lisbet first set eyes on the altar, she shuddered, her bloody imaginings dancing behind her eyes. Goosebumps broke out across her skin, and she was suddenly very aware of the cold. There were others, people she did not know. Some of them feasted on raw meat, tearing into it like animals.

An altmer named Sanyon brought the first sacrifice, a breton woman slung over his shoulder. “W—what is going on here?” Lisbet's eyes were wide, and she fought the urge to flee.

Hogni laughed. “You wanted to meet my suppliers.” He gestured to the others, a nord named Sigar and a bosmer named Nimphaneth. “Bloodiest meat you'll ever find.”

Sanyon threw the woman onto the altar, her head cracking against the stone. Lisbet watched blood soak into her hair before dripping over the sides of the alter.

“I—I---I can't.” She swallowed hard. “It's... this is...” Her ragged breathing echoed off the stone walls.

“You can, Lisbet,” Hogni replied as he handed Sanyon a carving knife. She watched as the altmer cut a thick slab of meat from the woman's arm, and it was only when the woman whimpered in pain that she realized that the victim was still alive. “We do this for our lady Namira.”

Sanyon stabbed the breton in the chest, and Lisbet watched with fascinated horror as blood frothed from her mouth. The sounds of the woman drowning in her own blood as her lungs were flooded was something Lisbet would never forget. The sound resonated in her head long after the woman breathed her last. Sanyon cut meat from the woman's thigh, and still dripping with blood, passed it to Lisbet.

The meat was warm and slick in her hands. Lisbet closed her eyes, imagining that it was Gunnar on that altar to be sacrificed to a Daedric Prince. She chewed slowly, blood trickling down her throat with every bite. Hogni's voice broke her reverie. “Welcome, sister.”

Nimphaneth and Hogni began cutting pieces from the woman, taking chunks of her legs and torso. Sanyon brushed the woman's hair back from her face, the gesture morbidly tender despite his bloody fingers. Lisbet sat at the table, watching the candles flickering.

Lisbet had to turn away when Sanyon climbed onto the altar, pulling what was left of the woman's legs around his hips. His grunts of pleasure did not seem to spoil anyone's appetite.

 

***

In the early spring, Lisbet insisted on going to Karthwasten with Gunnar. What was the point of an assistant if they couldn't leave the shop every now and again. Dutifully, she packed the necessary supplies.

Two days outside of Markarth, Lisbet enjoyed the mild weather as she watched her husband choke on the water she poisoned. He reached for her, and she just stepped out of reach, expression impassive. “The time to feast is upon us.” It took a lot of effort to get Gunnar on the back of the wagon. She covered him with pelts, and told him to sleep well.

Lisbet turned the wagon south, making her way to Reachcliff cave. The journey was uneventful, and she occasionally stopped to check on Gunnar. She would have hated for him to suffocate before she had the chance to lay him on Namira's alter.

Both Hogni and Sanyon met her outside of the cave, ready to help with her burden. Nimphaneth was there along with a woman who introduced herself as Eola.

“We have the alter prepared just for you,” Eola said, her smile genuinely welcoming. Gunnar was stripped and chained down.

Lisbet waited with trembling hands for her husband to wake up. Nimphaneth gently touched her elbow. “This is a fine sacrifice, Lisbet.” Her smile was nasty. “Nothing tastes better than the flesh of your enemies.”

Gunnar awoke to Lisbet standing over him. “What in Oblivion...” He ratted the chains. His breathing quickly became panicked. “Lisbet! What is going on?” She got a thrill out of watching him struggle. “Lisbet!”

“It is a such a shame that I'm to be a widow.” She drew a large knife with an ivory handle. “My husband died bravely protecting me from the Forsworn.”

“No!” Gunnar pulled at the chains, but only succeeded in the metal biting into his wrists and ankles. “Lisbet, this is crazy. Lisbet?” She held the knife in front of his face. “Lisbet!” She loved his pained gasp as she drove the blade into his shoulder.

Blood gushed up from the wound, and Lisbet took a moment to watch it pool across the stone. She grabbed his hand, forcing it down. Gunnar cried out when she cut off two of his fingers. Lisbet slid the tip of the knife along his thigh, the skin splitting open like a ripe melon.

Gunnar was reduced to begging, tears streaming down his face. Lisbet angled the knife just under his stomach, slicing up and out in one clean motion. The shock of it rendered him silent. “I'll see you in Oblivion, husband.” She jammed the knife in his eye to the hilt, twisting before ripping it out.

 

***

The shop's door swung open, causing both Lisbet and Imedhnain to look up.

“Welcome to Arnleif and Sons Trading Company. And, no, I’m not Arnleif. My husband's father was Arnleif.” Lisbet sighed. “I kept the name. It's been five years, and I still miss that stubborn oaf.”


End file.
